I keep getting the same image of G in my head. Lying in the beautiful soft pink, a thread exposed on her lower lip, an imperfection. Something was odd about her mouth, it wasn't right... it looked as though she were made of resin or wax. I can see the vacant expression in her sleeping face. In life she was fully expressive, day and night. It haunts me lately that I couldn't touch her, couldn't speak to her, couldn't touch the casket after carrying it to the car. G would not have been proud of me. She would have been irritated with how weak I was and how I could not comfort Dad and Rita. Now I realize the horror. I ache because I cannot call her. I never called her, but she was always there. Now I have lost my opportunity. I pray I am not so cold to others. That face, the false face on my grandma's shell will never leave me -- I know that. And I guess I don't want it to.

12.26.2000

12/26/2000

Posted on 02/20/2009
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